


Cities Apart

by WinterEyes



Series: The wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU-alwaysplatonic Sybil/Vimes, Angst, As interpreted by igor, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Slash, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterEyes/pseuds/WinterEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vimes needs sleep...and a drink he's not allowed. What he doesn't need is a meeting with Vetinari, with all that followed after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Debriefs and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I normally prefer to leave notes at the end so they can be skipped, however this time context is important. One upon a time, about a decade ago, I wrote my first fan-fiction. It was rushed, melodramatic and written chapter by chapter...yet somehow I think I managed to beat out a decent plot behind all the stilted prose. It remained on my hard-drive as something I cringed at and smiled about by turns, but never forgot. Now, finally, I have taken it out, dusted it off and rebuilt it from the ground up as something I hope I can be proud of. I will be posting a chapter every month to give me time to work on the sequel, if you want to laugh at the original then check ff.net where it is under the same title. Please let me know what you think.

Tick…Tock..Tick….Tock….Tick..Tock…..Tock

Vimes sat slumped in the Patrician's waiting room, too tired even to notice the clock. He needed sleep. Well no, actually he needed something stronger but he wasn't allowed that. But one thing he didn't need, and his mind agreed unanimously on this point, was to see Vetinari.

His mind kept flitting back to the events of the night; the chase through the warehouses, Carrot trying to talk the man down, the realisation that the man was charging coming instantaneously with movement as he pushed Carrot out of the way, the clumsy roll and sprawl that carried him clear of the knife, the menacing stalk of a wolf and the panicked scream of a would-be arsonist finally restrained by 80lb of snarling fur and muscle.

Only after it was over had Vimes realised that, with the late patrolling and paperwork of the previous day and night, he had been awake for over 48hrs. He tried to relax in the hard wooden chair, but a throb of pain from the bruise that covered most of his back reminded him why he was making the effort to sit so straight. Igor had done his best, including a salve that smelt suspiciously of bacon fat and mint, but the lack of any sort of rest was beginning to tell. Igor had tried to convince Vimes to try his new method of speeding up the healing process, but any procedure that involved that much tubing attached to needles and a lightening rod couldn't be a good thing.

And now he had to try and 'explain' things. And Vetinari would be calm and listen attentively and, curse him, might even be understanding.

_"Hell,"_ thought Vimes, _"I couldn't cope with that at the best of times, let alone right now."_

Vimes realised someone was trying to attract his attention. He looked up into the carefully expressionless face of Drumknott.

"The Patrician will see you now."

Vimes struggled to his feet and made his way to the office, trying not to stagger. He stood in front of the desk, swaying slightly as he, more by habit than need, tried to read the paper work upside down.

"Sit down Your Lordship" Vetinari said dryly as he looked up, one raised eyebrow somehow saying more about the state of Vimes’ uniform that most could achieve with illustrated notes.

Vimes sat, letting Vetinari's words wash over him. His mind was slowing to a crawl, fighting a rearguard action against the demands of his overtaxed body. Through the dull rushing in his ears he dimly heard Vetinari trying to attract his attention.

"Vimes, as much as I hate to derail your train of thought I was hoping I could merit a small part of your attention."

Vimes tried to get his eyes to focus, something that was apparently no longer an automatic process. If he could hang on until Vetinari dismissed him…

"Sir?" he said and slumped sideways.

His last relieved thought before unconsciousness was that at least he didn’t see the look on Vetinari’s face.

*

As the blackness slowly began to recede, Vimes dreamed.

"Are you sure you don't have any shackles Vimes?"

"No!"

( _I remember this…_ )

Rust's angry face loomed up out of the massed city leaders.

"The charge is high treason, the sentence death."

 Vimes gritted his teeth to suppress an oath

"And a fair trial doesn’t come into the picture? I would think he deserved that at least."

( _This isn't right, it didn't happen like this…_ )

"This is the trial _Mr._ Vimes."

Vetinari brushed his chained hands against Vimes' arm. "For the good of the city, justice must be served."

( _I can't do this, it’s not right, not Him…_ )

The hurdle jerked slowly through streets lined with angry people. Vimes saw the raised arm an instant before the throw and pulled Vetinari down, shielding him. The rock impacted with his back-plate, denting and bruising.

"The city speaks Commander."

"When have I ever listened to them?"

Vetinari smiled thinly. Vimes felt lost, searching Vetinari's eyes for a hint, a sign there was some grand plan – realising there was nothing but unable to tear his gaze away.

( _He never smiles like that…_ )

Vimes slipped the noose over Vetinari's head, then turned and walked down the ladder. Involuntarily his body turned and his gaze searched out Vetinari’s again. A wave of frustration and fear washed over him, a longing for something he couldn’t place.

( _For him…?)_

Vimes turned to run back, but he felt as though he was waist deep in freezing mud. He saw Carrot's hand grasp the lever, his mouth open to cry out but no sound escaping.

The trapdoor opened…

The bubble broke, and Vimes slowly swam towards consciousness. He lay, still feeling the phantom pain from the thrown stone, the lingering confusion as his body adjusted from dream to reality. Vimes surveyed his surroundings by feel; not trusting himself to open his eyes until he remembered…well how he got here would be a start.

_"Well I’m definitely lying on sheets, which gets rid of one set of unpleasant possibilities."_

Memory hit him like a sledgehammer, and he groaned under his breath. Vetinari was _not_ going to be pleased. Still, he could deal with that later. Carrot or one of the others would have been called to take him home to the Watch house, or back to Sybil's.

"Welcome back Vimes."

Liquid ice poured down Vimes' spine. Vetinari's voice? That meant…

His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in…bloody hell it must be Vetinari's _bed_! He was vaguely prepared to accept the idea that Vetinari occasionally slept, he had even been by his bedside when the man was poisoned, he just never thought of his bed as the type others could visit. He tried to jump to his feet, got tangled in the bedclothes, righted himself, completed a quick and relieved check that he was fully clothed…then met Vetinari's amused and slightly predatory stare.

At that moment, Vimes' legs decided to protest strongly about his rapid movements. As his knees buckled, he grabbed the bedpost to stop himself falling. Instantly, Vetinari was at his elbow, offering support. Vimes blinked in astonishment. Was that concern in Vetinari's eyes?

He regained his balance and straightened but Vetinari didn’t immediately step back, leaving the two men standing inches apart, the bed behind Vimes removing any hope of regaining personal space.

“Are you fully recovered?”

Vimes found his gaze involuntarily drifting down to Vetinari’s lips as he spoke, their faces so close that he could feel the puffs of air displaced by each plosive. In hindsight Vimes supposed it was a mistake to try and push past the Patrician, especially when the other man obviously thought he was still unbalanced and so would move to brace him. At the time, however, the only thing that registered was an unusually graceless tangle of limbs and the unexpected sensation of lips meeting his.

Head still swimming from the recent period of unconsciousness Vimes found himself automatically leaning into this unintended kiss, part of him fuzzily wondering when Vetinari would draw back with a cuttingly raised eyebrow. The hands that came up to gently grip his shoulders were what finally allowed his scattered thoughts to recover with screaming clarity.

Vetinari's hands…Vetinari, he was kissing, _being_ kissed by…

Vimes pulled away, his face masked with brittle calm. Unable to look at the potential expression on the other man’s face he strode briskly from the room; fighting the urge to turn and salute in the doorway, he instead left his customary dent in the hallway wall.

Vetinari remained standing in the middle of the room, no emotion registering on his pale face. When the sound of Vimes' retreat had faded, he moved to his desk and sat down, pulling some papers towards him. As he began to write, the sound of feet striding away from the palace were heard through the open window. Only then did his shoulders slump, ever so slightly.

 


	2. Form and Substance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vetinari acts as much like himself as possible and Leonard of Quirm is unusually concise.

Vetinari shuffled the papers around on his desk, for the first time in his life feeling unable to concentrate fully on his work. Normally he delighted in the various intrigues and plots that seemed to come with the city as much as the smell, but now he was finding recent events harder to push aside.

He practically made a living from reading the silences behind what people said and did, yet the events of earlier had completely caught his by surprise – a feeling he normally abhorred but was slowly becoming used to when Vimes was involved with events.

He remembered when he had thought he first met Vimes; that naive, newly appointed captain applying for command of the Day Watch. The recollection always amused him, Vimes had not yet schooled his face to present the bland impassiveness he did now and Vetinari had been able to read every thought running across the young man’s face.

*

"So Captain…Vimes was it?"

"Yes Sir."

Vetinari steepled his fingers, relishing the faint look of panic on the fresh face across from him.

"Now Vimes, why do you feel you should be given this command over someone with more experience…more familiarity with command?"

"But the older officers are the problem Sir!"

"Explain Captain."

The flat tone would have been a warning to anyone with the slightest shred of self-preservation, designed to reach straight into the hind-brain and alert all senses to the presence of a concealed predator. Vetinari was actually faintly shocked when the Captain was too wrapped up in oratory to notice.

"They don't respect the law of the City, the law we should be enforcing. Everyone knows the Assassins are just murderers and the Thieves Guild just a pack of thieves but no-one does anything about it!"

When a slight narrowing of the eyes also failed to provoke a response Vetinari realised it was worse than he’d thought. He rarely did anything so vulgar or wasteful as killing anymore, but Vimes had to be put somewhere he would not be in danger of destabilising the fragile balance.

"Captain, these are some of the city's premier institutions and ones that the Captain of the Day Watch would be expected to liaise closely with. Maybe you should consider whether this post is really what you want."

He could see when Vimes finally read the meaning under the carefully polite tone of the words, the first set of barriers being erected to keep his thoughts at bay. It was enough for Vetinari to decide a tragic accident would be unnecessary…command of the Night Watch would be a perfect alternative.

"You are dismissed Captain."

"Sir"

*

Vetinari remembered his exact words to Wonse in a later conversation - 

"The Night Watch is a bunch of fools commanded by a drunkard…it's taken me years to achieve it."

Vetinari smiled wryly; Wonse hadn't been the only misguided one in the events that followed. Vetinari had impassively watched a formerly idealistic man nearly destroy himself with alcohol and regret, but the Vimes that made it through the dragon’s flame had been tempered into the irresistible force to Vetinari’s immovable object. He had begun to relish the chaos Vimes could bring to the city…especially after figuring out how to channel it to his own ends.

As Vetinari confronted the fact that he had been completely distracted by nostalgic musings he grudgingly conceded that Vimes had often intruded into his thoughts, ever since realising when their real first meeting had been.

_Vetinari crouched on the rooftop, his dark grey clothes wrapped tight around him as he melted into the shadows. The night was cold but he did not stir, his attention riveted on the scene playing out in front of him. The man with the scars and eye patch controlling the crowd, making it dance to his tune. It was a feat few could have managed and fewer still could have maintained._

_Vetinari felt a stirring of respect as he gazed at the man below him, at his face silhouetted in the lamplight, but tried to banish it as he focused on the task at hand. Emotions only confused things, plus if his Aunt discovered how he felt she would have a hold over him and that Vetinari would not allow. Still, maybe in the privacy of his thoughts he could indulge the odd fantasy…_

_There was the movement he had been watching for. His arm came up and he fired, by instinct rather than aim. As his quarry fell to the street below, Vetinari slipped away over the rooftops, reflecting he would probably never see the man again._

An inaudible sigh escaped from Vetinari as he remembered. He had watched Keel die and avenged him. Seeing him again, so many years after, caused the closest thing to confusion that Vetinari would ever admit to, but now there was no time for the luxury of indecision - this time there would be no miraculous second chance whatever path he chose. He needed someone to listen, but not judge, and he knew one person who could definitely do that.

Scant minutes (and some careful hopping) later, Vetinari stood outside the workroom of Leonard of Quirm knowing he would have whatever scattered parts of the inventors attention could be commanded after his latest invention had been disarmed.

Even with Leonard’s usual open style of listening it took Vetinari longer than usual to bring the conversation around to the absent commander, longer still for the heavily abridged version of their most recent encounter. As Vetinari sat in the ensuing silence, trying to remember what he had hoped to accomplish, Leonard looked passed him with the vague yet focused expression of a man lost in memory.

“In Ephebe, philosophers talk of different styles of love…better for extended debate than just the one word you see.”

“I have a passing familiarity with the concept,” Vetinari interjected drily, the tone winging effortlessly over Leonard’s head.

Leonard moved to his desk and began to rummage in a drawer, his preoccupation helping to maintain the illusion he was just musing aloud.

“Storge, or storgic love, develops from simple friendship into a deeper commitment – intimacy more important than passion.”

Leonard pushed a sheaf of papers taken from the drawer across his desk, fluttering a hand vaguely from them towards Vetinari. He then turned to the windowsill to tinker with a scale model of something far too complicated. Vetinari began to ideally flick through them but almost immediately stuttered to a stop.

Interspersed with the normal detritus Leonard’s mind produced were tiny, detailed sketches – Vimes and Vetinari frozen in monochrome moments, all different but capturing the threads weaving between them; a familiarity that neither allowed to anyone else, the trust implied in a turned back or bowed head, the understanding of two men united by a city to be saved from itself.

Vetinari was never lost for words. Nevertheless he stared at Leonard’s back in silence. Even he could not remain oblivious to the pressure of the Patrician’s stare and bustled back to refresh their cups of tea from the thankfully normal kettle.

"I looked through the eyes of the portraits, just a little habit to help the time pass. I've done studies of several others if you're interested…"

"No," said Vetinari slowly, as he stood up to leave, "these are quite sufficient."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, in the last chapter awkward kiss was awkward but still caused me fewer cringes than the first draft. Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments - the story will be told either way but the author was very happy.


	3. Know Thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vimes struggles with a problem and Sybil is a shipper-on-deck.

Vimes stalked through the streets of Ankh-Morpork, paying little attention to his surroundings. Normally this would make such a person an immediate target to the various less savoury denizens of the fetid city but there was something in Vimes' stance, and the look in his eyes, that made even the licensed thieves shrink away to find safer targets.

_Catshead_

_Cobbles_

_Roughstone_

_Paving_

Vimes trusted his feet to take him back to the watch house, distractedly glad he had persuaded Sybil to stop gifting him with shoes. If she had Vimes would be hopelessly lost, his head too full to leave room for mundane things like direction. He kept prodding things like a loose tooth, trying to make sense of thing. Had it been a kiss? Had he imagined the faint pressure from Vetinari’s mouth, had the hands been raised to support him or pull him away? Vimes didn’t even know how _he_ had meant it – it may have started by accident but what would have happened without reality crashing down?

He scowled at the familiar site of the watch house looming before him. All he had to do was get past the all the highly skilled, observant watchmen that he himself had trained to notice anything out of the ordinary. If he reached his office unchallenged he could bury himself in paperwork, a literal phrase considering the state of his desk.

*

Colon sighed and stretched, looking around the almost empty room. The chair he was sitting in creaked and he froze, remembering a few weeks ago when…well in his defence it had been a very old chair and shouldn't have been left where an unsuspecting person could actually sit on it. He saw Nobby directing a side-long smirk at him and knew he wasn't the only one who remembered. To forestall any comment he turned towards Carrot.

"I think that armour is clean enough now sir."

Carrot glanced up from his furious polishing.

"This armour is a symbol of…"

Colon sat back and let his attention drift. The slam of the door leading to the street brought him back just in time to catch;

"…so the least we can do is maintain it to the standards the public demand of us."

Vimes strode through the door, his face set in a scowl so deep Colon wondered who the unlucky corpse…person was. He held his breath until he heard the next slam, this time of the office door. Carrot got up from his desk. Nobby looked at him quizzically.

"Where are you going?"

"There's obviously something wrong; I'm sure any help we can give would be appreciated."

Colon and Nobby shared a meaningful look. Both also got up, Colon moving towards Carrot.

"May I speak freely sir?" he whispered.

"Of course"

"I know you outrank me but I do have experience with these situations and…"

"Go on"

"In this situation the senior officer has a problem and, when the senior officer has a problem, the rank…"

"Go on patrol." Nobby finished, putting on his helmet and heading for the door. Colon followed, looking meaningfully at Carrot who, after a last reluctant glance in the direction of the stairs, buckled on his gleaming breastplate and went after them.

*

Vimes let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding when he heard the sounds of their exit. He had known he could trust the self-preservation instincts of Colon and Nobby but Carrot was another matter. That boy was going to get himself into trouble one day; hell he already had. Vimes still shuddered when he remembered how close Carrot had come to arresting Vetin…the Patrician. Come to think of it, it was Colon who had saved the day then too. A half smile flitted across Vimes' lips.

It faded as Vimes remembered why he needed to be alone, once again turning the event over in his mind. Vetinari infuriated him, confused him, fascinated him…

Vimes froze at that last thought, trying to rephrase it before reluctantly admitting it was true. Vetinari had always intrigued him, even if sometimes he thought he should save the nobles a favour and kill the man. Had that lead to something else, this something he was struggling to put into words?

Vimes took out his notebook and a pencil.

'Whene dide thise happyn?' he wrote, before tearing off the page and flinging it towards the bin. Something nagged at his mind, something only half remembered struggling to the surface.

_Vimes grunted, halfway up the wall. He could feel the cramp building in his shoulders from the effort of holding himself upright. He stole another glance at Vetinari as he sat reading, the picture of calm and composure._

_Gods it was ridiculous. Here he was, halfway up a wall in a dank cell they might never get out of, and Vetinari was reading a book on…Vimes squinted…lace making._

_Wiping the sweat from his eyes Vimes started again to chip away at the mortar. He could feel Vetinari's eyes on him and wondered why that didn't bother him. He also wondered, with a certain degree of exasperation, when Vetinari would stop being smug and show him the other way out of the cell. Whatever Vetinari thought of him, Vimes wasn't stupid enough to believe Vetinari would build a cell he couldn't get out of, even without secret passages._

_He could just ask Vetinari, however embarrassing that would be, but he knew Vetinari would be happier revealing it in his own good time. A part of him wondered why he cared about Vetinari's happiness, but another more cynical part wrote it off as due to the fact Vetinari did pay his wages._

_Anyway…Vimes raised his dagger again._

Vimes leant back, rubbing his eyes, his thoughts still turning in circles. It was pointless just thinking himself into knots, he needed an outside opinion and there was only one person he trusted enough to bring this too. It was time to go home.

*

Vimes walked hesitantly up the drive of the mansion he shared with Sybil. Even after Gods knew how long he still felt uncomfortable going up to the front door. He supposed there would always be a part of him that should be going in through the servant's door, to be honest he hoped there always would. The day he felt comfortable as Duke of Ankh would be the day he wasn't a copper anymore and he wouldn't be Vimes either.

He smiled bitterly; today going to the front door was the least of his worries. Back at the watch house this had seemed such a good idea; a calm, impartial and above all discrete ear to listen to his problem, but now…

 How could he talk to Sybil about this, how could he even put it into words? What would she say and, more importantly, how did he want her to react?

By this time Vimes had reached the door. He stood with his hand raised, then hesitated. Just as he was seriously debating staying the night at the watch house, the door opened to reveal the sober face of Wilikins. Vimes coughed and then lowered his hand, trying to project the air that standing on the front step with your hand raised was a practical alternative to actually knocking.

"Lady Sybil is waiting for you in the Ever So Slightly Blue Drawing Room sir; she suggested you may want to speak with her."

"How did she..?" Vimes spluttered

"Well sir, you were pacing outside the gate for some time, so her Ladyship ventured to surmise something might be on your mind."

Vimes mutely followed Wilikins into the house, unconsciously bracing himself for whatever may come. The butler showed him to the Drawing Room, then tactfully left. Vimes stood for a moment in the heavy silence, definitely not looking towards the chair where Sybil sat in a palpable aura of anxiety. He paced to the fireplace, ignoring the rustle of ancient stuffing resettling until a touch on his arm brought him to a reluctant halt, his resolve crumbling in the face of Sybil’s iron-shod compassion.

“Sam?”

Vimes looked back at the empty grate, wondering which would take more effort – the truth or a lie.

"Sam I don’t want to pry, but you can’t expect me to see something bothering you without wanting to help.”

He hesitated again and Sybil took his hand with a fond smile that did nothing to soften the focused intelligence behind it.

"Tell me, or do I have to lock you in the dragon pens again until you see sense?"

Vimes gratefully surrendered to the inevitable.

"When I went to report to Vetinari, he and I, in his office…something happened."

“A bad something?”

“Not on the scale this city normally uses. No, not bad, just unexpected and definitely accidental…a kiss, of sorts.”

Sybil walked them both over to an over-embroidered sofa to sit, her lips thinned with obvious internal debate. As they sat she sighed resolutely.

“I know how you thought this would go Sam but I can’t pretend to be surprised, even for your sake. Anyone could see it was inevitable, except perhaps for the two of you.

As Vimes’ eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline Sybil realised what she had just implied and backtracked hurriedly.

"Oh no one else has noticed. You know the other city dignitaries, about as observant as a hedgehog under a cart wheel. But I’ve seen the way you act around each other; I’ve certainly known you both long enough.”

“How we act? I know we’ve finally reached an understanding but it’s a big leap from that to romance!”

“Who mentioned romance Sam? We were just talking about an accident.”

Vimes coloured briefly but suddenly felt more grounded than he had since leaving the palace.

“You’re using what people say to trap them, I taught you that.”

“Years in a girls boarding school actually, but you can have some credit for refining it.”

She paused momentarily to gather her thoughts, rain beginning to patter against the windows as the sky darkened outside.

“Sam, Gods’ know I’m no good at this, maybe if I was then my only relationships wouldn’t be either platonic or professional. All I can tell you is you and he share some kind of closeness, something more than any understanding or alliance of convenience could explain. Havelock trusts you more than another living soul and you leap to his defence without a second thought. Please think carefully Sam, take advantage of this ‘accident’ unless you are sure there is nothing more the two of you could be.”

She sat back, leaving a mildly stunned silence behind her. Vimes stared at his feet, thoughts slowly processing, motive and opportunity finally slotting into place like puzzle pieces rescued from a forgotten, dusty corner. He didn’t notice when Sybil unobtrusively left, ignored the light finally fading as the rain continued to beat against the glass. He didn’t even notice when he began to hum tunelessly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The humming continued as he left the house, absently tossing his baton from hand to hand as he made his way to the front gate. Sybil watched him go from the hall then, looking around carefully to make sure she was alone, allowed herself to pump one fist in a gesture used by the better class of sportsman.

“Yes!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I hope is an improvement over the original - really makes a difference thinking of secondary characters as real people rather than mouthpieces to drive the plot forward ;)


	4. Thicker Than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which distraction has a cost and decisions are made

In the dark, wet alley, the men waited. They were new to Ankh-Morpork, but men like them automatically gravitated towards the Shades. They watched the man in the battered breastplate approaching. He didn't look like their preferred helpless victim but hunger made them desperate, besides there was only one of him. Before he was completely past the alleyway, they leapt out in front of him.

*

Vimes stood warily facing the three thugs who had appeared so suddenly. He cursed his relative lack of attention, the Shades was not the place for even the smallest lowering of guard. Still, these men obviously didn’t recognise him, which meant they were unprepared.

The first man, moving in, had his overconfidence met with the Vimes Elbow, swiftly followed by the Vimes Kneecap. The second, trying to take advantage of this distraction, found that the best (and for him worst) thing about the Vimes Elbow was that there were, in fact, two of them. Vimes stood facing the third, his harsh breath mingling with the roar of the rain in his ears. Why didn't the man move? He didn't even try to run, just stood there, gazing at Vimes. No, not at him, past him…

Vimes started to turn but too late, feeling a heavy blow that blossomed to burning pain as an unseen fourth man drove the dagger into his side. Vimes sank to his knees, his hand instinctively reaching to clutch the wound as the man roughly tore the knife away. He dimly heard their retreating footsteps mixed with a wet slither as the two men decided to take themselves and their fallen comrades elsewhere. Vimes tried to regain his feet but his legs refused to cooperate and he fell heavily against the wall of the alley, the impact sending a fresh wave of agony that made his vision grey at the edges.

He lay there listening to the rain drumming on his breastplate, beginning to shiver uncontrollably despite the warm wetness that pulsed between his clenched fingers, soaking into his tunic.

Vimes had no idea how long he had been lying there, his awareness kept slipping away from him and focussing on irrelevant things, the pain that flared every time he took a breath beginning to lose its urgency. The chilling rain ran over his upturned face and he blinked it out of his eyes as he fought to stay together, determinedly pushing back the darkness. Lying here was not an option. He knew no help was coming and no one would want any help the Shades could provide. Unless…

He somehow struggled to his feet, clutching at the wall for support as black spots bloomed and spun in his vision. He clung to consciousness with the ease of long practice, forcing that first step.

He began to walk. Pushing his mind past all distraction, Vimes focused his whole being on what he could feel though the worn soles of his shoes. He kept walking. Vimes' vision had narrowed to the ground in front of his feet. He kept walking.

Each step became a blind stumble forwards. He kept walking. Then, at last, he stopped, his feet telling him he had arrived. Vimes turned and looked up, knowing his life depended on what he would find. Above him, the weathered sign creaked in the wind.

_Dr. M Lawn_

Vimes knocked on the door. From inside he heard the faint sound of footsteps.

"Hello, who…"

Lawn trailed off as he saw the blood-stained, bedraggled form swaying in his doorway.

"Remember me?" said Vimes, as Lawn took his arm and helped him inside.

"Keel…?"

"Not anymore"

*

Vetinari picked up the next letter and started to read, knowing after the first sentence who it was. Only Rust could put so much aristocratic indignation into that small a space, or say so little in so many words. As he discarded it and reached for the next there came a tap at the door, followed a few seconds later by Drumknott's head.

"The evening reports from the informants are here sir."

"Put them in the usual tray" Vetinari murmured, without looking up.

Drumknott turned and placed a stack of paper in the tray. He paused a moment as if considering something, then picked the top one of the pile and turned back to Vetinari.

"Sir, I believe you will wish to give this one your immediate attention."

Drumknott placed the paper in Vetinari's outstretched hand then hurriedly left the room. The Patrician had always kept a tight rein on his emotions but this was an entirely new matter, Drumknott really didn't want to be around if Vetinari decided to let go all at once.

Vetinari waited until Drumknott left the room then lowered his eyes to the report he had been given. He read it quickly, then again more thoroughly as the edge of the paper began to crease in an almost imperceptibly tightening hand. Vetinari moved calmly but swiftly to a cupboard at the rear of the room and pulled out a battered old trunk, tapping on the lid in a seemingly random pattern before opening it to reveal a robe of mottled dark green and grey. Changing into it from his Patrician's black he suddenly looked less visible, even in the light of his office, as if his outline had been smudged around the edges. He pulled the hood up over his head, opened the window and slipped out into the night.

Back in the waiting room, Drumknott sat at his desk and sighed. He hoped, for the city's sake, that Vimes was still alive.

*

Vimes opened his eyes and squinted in the candle-light. He had focused all his remaining strength on reaching Lawn's house where he had he had finally surrendered to inevitable collapse, knowing he could trust to the doctor’s skill. Now he knew he lay on a bed, but beyond that only the ceiling was in his line of vision. Vimes tried to raise his head to see the room, but even that small movement made his head swim. He lay back and concentrated on breathing, listening to the muffled snatches of conversation coming from the next room.

_"…bad way. Lost too much…had to cauterize…not…time left…"_

_"…watch house…go…Igor…"_

The door then creaked open and Vimes closed his eyes against the flare of light, force of habit making him relax and feign sleep until he could assess the situation. He kept them closed as the light disappeared and listened to the quiet breathing of the person who was now in the room with him. Soft steps approached the bed, and then he heard a whisper, soft and almost pleading.

"Vimes…"

Vimes turned his head slightly and opened his eyes to look up into a face he knew almost as well as him own. Vetinari looked almost as calm as usual, but Vimes' mouth twitched at the sight of a streak of green camouflage smudged on Vetinari's usually immaculate cheek. For a long second Vetinari stood poised, seeming unsure how to proceed with Vimes awake. Finally he sat, hesitantly reaching out and laying a cool hand on Vimes’ colder one.

“There are better ways to get my attention Commander.”

"Guess I shouldn't have run in the first place," Vimes rasped, feeling consciousness slipping away from him once more.

Vetinari stared at Vimes as his eyes slid closed, watching the rise and fall of Vimes' chest with each shallow breath. Vetinari felt a dampness on his cheek and raised his hand, staring in disbelief at the small drop shining on his finger before flicking it away with irritation. He searched the pale countenance before him for some sign of life, willing the mouth to flicker into the sardonic smile he knew so well, or the eyes to open and lock with his. Vetinari ruthlessly stifled any emotion that threatened below his almost impassive surface. Control was all he had. If he lost it, even for a moment, Vetinari feared he would be overwhelmed.

"Sentiment…" he breathed, his face twisting momentarily into a self-mocking sneer.

He had always secretly wondered how other people could allow their emotions to hold so much power over them, how they could bare to be helpless in the path of such tempestuous folly. This situation was the proof of everything he had believed, yet his detachment eluded him. Whatever he felt for Vimes was an anomaly at best and a dangerous distraction at best, something that should be erased from his being…yet that feeling of lips momentarily against his, the treacherous relaxing of his own mouth before Vimes had withdrawn, that refused to go quietly.

When Vetinari had read the report Drumknott handed him he had acted automatically, the routines providing a comfortable static. It was only when he saw a rapidly congealing pool of fresh blood, looking almost black in the moonlight, he allowed himself to think ahead. The rest of the journey had taken on a nightmarish quality as he had followed the streaks of red through various twists and turns, streaks that seemed to get heavier the further he progressed. Vetinari had dreaded coming across a slumped form at the end of the trail, but wished for it too, if just to find the end.

Vetinari unwillingly returned his mind to the present. He chafed Vimes' hand with his, trying to force some warmth into the frozen fingers. Vetinari reflected he would gladly do anything to ensure Vimes lived. The depth of feeling frightened him, never before had he allowed anything to mean as much to him as this watchmen.

"For your sake I will bear this weakness" Vetinari whispered, hoping Vimes would somehow hear the words it cost him so much to say.

The door banging brought him out of his reverie. Vetinari carefully released Vimes' hand and slipped out into the other room in time to see Igor opening the door for a bedraggled Dr. Lawn.

"Thorry sir, but its traditional."

"Even so…how did you get ahead of me to open the door? You were following me all the way down the street!"

Lawn looked alternately horrified and fascinated, common when first encountering an Igor. He was also paying special attention to his 's' sounds, another surprisingly common reaction.

Igor stepped past Vetinari and into the room where Vimes lay. The door swung shut and the two remaining men stood in an awkward silence, which Vetinari broke.

"I would not have expected this degree of altruism from the Shades. The City will owe you a debt.”

"If he lives of course" said Lawn acerbically.

Both men turned expectantly as Igor shuffled back into the room and over to his trunk, which he began to root through as he talked.

"The doctor's diagnothis was correct. Lucky for him I've jutht worked out the tranthfuthion system."

He began pulling out large ice-covered bottles of blood, placing them in a row next to the bag, followed by needles, tubing and several glass bowls.

“I will need a thample of the Commander’s blood for tethting.”

"Don't you think he's lost enough of that already?" Lawn snapped. "If you were brought here to save him you're going about it in a very bad way!"

"It'th all necessary I athure you. I'm going to replace thum of the blood he's lotht with blood I've taken from some of the other watchmen."

"Were they conscious?" Vetinari inquired with a degree of fascinated dread.

"Of corth not thur. I am not completely without…"

"Morals" Lawn interjected quickly. He doubted he could handle Igor saying scruples.

"Yeth. But I have to test hith blood first. For thome reason, only some thampleth of blood will mix. If you get it wrong, the blood clots."

“It might work,” Lawn mused, lost in thoughts of half-remembered scientific papers, completely missing Igor’s aggrieved sniff.

“Might ith not in the Igor code thur,” he said as his lisp became suddenly more prominent. “If we do thomthing, it workth.”

The return visit to the sick-bed was momentary. Under Lawn's fascinated gaze, Igor began to mix samples of Vimes' blood with that from the bottles, holding the glass bowls critically up to the light as he swirled the contents. Time after time the mixed samples darkened and congealed, the group of discarded bottles growing larger. The scars on Igor's head began to arrange into an approximation of a frown until, finally, there was only a single bottle left. As Igor mixed the samples, Vetinari keeping his breathing carefully even. He willed the blood to remain liquid, but all too soon a dark, sticky clump began to form. Igor set down the bowl and looked towards Vetinari and Lawn.

"Now what?" said Lawn wearily. His professional curiosity had been peaked, but now it seemed that there would be no miraculous breakthrough. Igor pulled over his trunk and opened a compartment in the side, marked with a red cross.

"There ith one more bottle left"

He turned from the bag and mixed the last two samples. The silence in the room stretched tight with the anticipation. The blood stayed fluid. Igor hesitated, staring down at the bowl.

"What is the delay?" asked Vetinari, his voice worryingly calm.

Igor turned, still holding the bowl, and fixed Vetinari with a penetrating stare.

"It's Thargeant Angua's blood thur."

There was silence. Lawn shifted uneasily, hoping that what he knew was wrong.

"So a werewolf's blood…"

"Hath the same effect ath the bite, yes."

"But without the blood?" Vetinari interjected. "Can he survive without this…transfusion?"

Igor's silence was the only answer. Vetinari glanced involuntarily towards the door behind him. If Vimes alive was a distraction Vimes' death was a yawning chasm, one that he would not allow to open.

"Then do it"

"I need his conthent."

"I give the consent."

Vetinari ignored the accusatory silence as Igor began to prepare the equipment, connecting the rubber tubing to the bottle. Why he was doing it didn't matter. Neither did the consequences. Once Vimes was safe…then he would allow himself to think of those.

The patchwork man moved into the candlelit room, Lawn and Vetinari following close behind. Igor took a leather strap and bound it tightly around Vimes' upper arm, waiting for the bulge of a vein to appear. When it did, he took a hollow needle in competent fingers and slipped it into Vimes' arm, quickly connecting the tube and releasing the tourniquet before more than a trickle of blood could escape. He paused and turned, fixing his eyes on Vetinari. Then he inverted the bottle.

The encroaching silence was shattered by Vimes' scream. Still unconscious, his back arched off the bed and he began to writhe as if in the grip of intolerable pain. Vetinari lunged forwards and gripped Vimes' bucking shoulders, striving to hold him down, dimly aware of Lawn undertaking a similar task at Vimes' feet. The skin under his hands burned with heat, Vimes fought and moaned for what seemed like an eternity, then abruptly went limp.

Throughout it all Igor had remained calmly holding the now half-empty bottle. As the rest slowly drained away Vetinari released his hold and stepped back, straightening to meet two condemning pairs of eyes with the composure of a man who knows what will happen when the ice breaks. When the bottle was empty, Igor disconnected the tube and carefully withdrew the needle, tying a strip of cloth round the oozing puncture.

"It'th done, apart from the waiting," he said. "I will fetch Thargeant Angua at first light."

As a shaken Lawn left the room Igor paused in the doorway, his implacable gaze taking in the bed, its occupant and the Patrician, left alone with his decision.

“You would have made a good Mathtur I think.”

The click of the door was far louder that it had any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it really difficult to write Vetinari properly, trying to get into the head and heart of someone so closed off. If anyone has the time I would appreciate any con-crit that comes my way


	5. The Guilt of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which actions have consequences, an expert is brought in and an uneasy truce is struck

The candle was a guttered ruin by the time Vimes' eyes flickered open. Vetinari waited in the darkness, barely breathing, as awareness returned to Vimes' face.

"Vetinari?" Vimes muttered, trying to raise himself to a sitting position. Vetinari raised one eyebrow in confusion; he knew he had made no betraying sound and, with the drapes pulled across, the room was too dark to see clearly despite the faintly lightening sky.

"How could you tell?"

"I could…smell you?" Vimes said incredulously, before shaking his head at the absurdity.

"Igor proved his worth again then," he continued. "He'll be pleased, especially if he got to try out some new idea of his."

"He did." Vetinari said flatly.

“Well whatever it was must have been better than leeches and rusty knives, though I’m sure Lawn could have stitched me up…wouldn’t be the first time. How bad was it?”

Vetinari couldn’t answer, his hands tightening at his sides. He must have made some sound though, as the knot of shadow that was Vimes shifted, a hand coming up to reach blindly in his direction. The thought of Vimes trying to give comfort twisted something in Vetinari to breaking point and he stepped back, drawing detachment around himself like a cloak.

"Lawn kept you alive, but Igor had to replace the blood you lost. The only suitable blood was Sergeant Angua's. I gave consent."

The reaching hand froze. Vetinari braced himself, ready for the smouldering anger he had seen from Vimes in the past, the slow-burning fire that could be banked by circumstance to white-hot rage. Instead the hand withdrew, recoiling with white-knuckled fingers as the figure in the bed became utterly still. The silence became a stifling weight between them, Vetinari struggling not to break it with empty words, his own tactic turned against him.

Instead, mouth sour with disgust at his cowardice, he left.

Lawn was at the kitchen table, poking at something that glistened disturbingly. He resolutely avoided Vetinari’s eye as he entered but gestured to the chair across from him. When Vetinari made no movement to sit the Doctor raised his head with a sardonic smirk.

“I didn’t think politicians could feel guilt. I guess this is a day of firsts for everyone.”

Any reply from Vetinari was forestalled when the front door banged open.

_"Sir"_

The word was laced with such venom it was a wonder the air forming it didn't smoke. Vetinari turned to see Sergeant Angua, her body trembling with suppressed rage as she glared at him. He fought the urge to back up a pace, an angry werewolf tending to have that effect on even the most composed of people. He stared coolly at her, his leader's mask firmly back in place, waiting for outrage to overwhelm her normal restraint.

"Igor told me what happened. I should thank you for saving his life, except for the small fact that he might have chosen death … _sir_."

Few insults could have sounded as vehement as those tightly controlled sentences, but to Vetinari it was almost penance. He inclined his head graciously to the Sergeant, gesturing for her to step into the room.

“Unfortunately Sergeant, which is a choice the City couldn’t allow him to make.”

“The City sir? With all the years you’ve known him that is all you could come up with?”

When Vetinari failed to answer Angua treated him to a considering glare.

"So I assume now you want me to find him _sir_?"

With sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach Vetinari stalked to the bedroom door and flung it open. With dull resignation he took in the empty bed, the open window, the curtains stirring limply in the frigid morning breeze. With a suppressed sign and stiffened spine he turned back to face his audience.

"Will it be difficult?"

"The scent should be easy enough to locate, it's following it that might be the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"If Vimes is thinking clearly he knows you'll call me in to track him. If he heads through Traitor's Gate we’ll be lucky if we work out that much."

Angua stepped past Vetinari into the room. She closed her eyes and braced herself before taking a tentative sniff, the coppery tang of blood being the overriding nasal presence which seemed to caress her morphic switches, speaking to the deep urge to surrender and change. With an effort of will Angua forced it to one side.

She slunk towards the bed, the coloured clouds of smell unfolding in her mind. She dismissed the purple and patchwork streaks of recent movement that were Lawn and Igor respectively. That left her with the two relatively still clouds by the bed. The first was collected around the chair and the bedside, a silvery, metallic drift that could only be the Patrician.

_…there_

Pooled on the bed was the light-blue trace her nose had been sorting for, a knot of acrid pain and fear, slightly ragged at the edges where Vimes must have writhed and thrashed. As Angua turned to follow the thread that led to the window she caught something on the edge of her nasal sight. With the ease of long practice her building growl was stifled before it became audible as she confirmed the traces of darker, more vivid colour beginning to stain the trail. His scent was already beginning to change.

Angua opened her eyes and moved back towards the door; there was no point in climbing out the window when she could easily pick up the trail under it on the outside. As she thought of facing the Patrician again it was all she could do to prevent her teeth lengthening. To know what he knew about Vimes and to let Igor continue…it was inhuman.

_"And thanks to him Vimes will learn just how that feels"_ she thought bitterly.

As she stepped out of the room, Vetinari was already watching for her. Angua stood in silence with her arms crossed, wondering how close she could get to absolute defiance before he lost his infuriating calm. To her utter surprise, he spoke first.

“Can you find him?”

In another man she might have thought she heard a hint of desperation, for Vetinari it was close enough to make her narrow in on his scent, trying to make sense of an impossibility. She had expected to find guilt; but not pain, not sorrow, not a longing that tugged at her and dragged her from rage to pity.

"Yes, the scent is clear enough. If Vimes wants to be found I will find him, on the condition that I’m not followed or interfered with.”

She was prepared to verbally defend herself or even, as a final resort, to beat a hasty retreat. What she wasn’t expecting was the tight nod of agreement and the subtle scent of hope as Vetinari left.

Angua made her way to the back of Lawn's house and stopped under the window. She knelt and studied the scuff marks in the dirt – no scent or sight of blood meant Vimes had not reopened his wound, a sign he was already healing like a member of the family. She automatically blocked out smell of the normal Ankh-Morpork to focus on Vimes' odd dual smell, the original already becoming lost under the new, feral scent of what he was becoming. As Angua followed the two-toned blue trail out of the alley she kept to the pace of an officer on casual patrol, something always left carefully uninterrupted in case said officer became interested in what you were doing.

At first the scent headed towards the marketplace, but both she and the trail balked in the same place as the taint of silver (however impure) tarnished the air. Angua shuddered, she had forgotten how painful silver was to encounter the first time. An older werewolf grew hardened to the taint of it but with Vimes’ reaction painted on the air; it was all she could do to keep her legs steady as the trail staggered into a nearby alley. The panic of the feral dog that had been in it did nothing to help matters.

After a steadying sniff of Carrot’s clean handkerchief, hurriedly re-hidden, Angua cast about to confirm what her nose had already told her, swearing under her breath as she found the scuffed prints of a wolf. Changing would have been the natural reaction of a stressed and threatened novice, something Vimes wouldn’t even know to control until too late.

_I hope my family exaggerated how hard the first change was for those not born to it_

She ducked behind a stack of barrels in a futile hope that her breastplate would be there to find when she returned.

“If not, I’m sending my expenses to the Palace,” she muttered aloud, with a vicious grin.

With a pause, change and practiced wiggle she was free of her clothes and back in the alley, albeit with two extra feet. In this form it was simpler to unpick the coloured tangle that made up the city, even the confusion of Vimes’ twists and turns. She tried not to notice how the trail would invariably lead towards a Watch-house before realising and veering away at the last second, or how it so obviously avoided any path to Sybil’s mansion.

Finally Angua reached the edge of city, finding tracks that reeked of panic and exhaustion. It ended at a wooden storage hut some distance into the cabbage fields, half hidden by some stunted trees that had obviously been overlooked by the farmer's compulsive clearing. As she nosed open the door a guttural snarl had the fur bristling along the length of her spine and she froze, flattening her ears at the sight of the lean, scarred wolf whose black fur almost melded with the evening’s shade. As the lips pulled back further from the teeth Angua realised her mistake, seeing no recognition in the frantic stare of a cornered predator. As he sprang at her she dodged and changed, keeping in a tense crouch in case her plan failed.

The snarl choked off leaving silence, a moment of morphic uncertainty… then the semi-collapsed figure of her commander, head bowed. The arm holding him up wavered with fine tremors of fatigue and Angua moved without thinking, ignoring the poorly controlled flinch as she helped him back to a sitting position. When his gaze remained fixed firmly on the dusty floorboards she grimaced, finding a mouldering pile of blankets to give them the illusion of civility. When Vimes finally raised his head it was her turn to flinch, struck by the desolate look in his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m ok?”

Angua looked him up and down meaningfully, letting the pause draw out as she shifted marginally closer to his tense form.

“Are you ok sir?”

“Splendid.”

“It won’t always be like that.”

Another pause, another careful slide into his personal space. Vimes shuddered, lost in thought.

“I can go and tell Sybil something so she won’t worry. Igor will invent something for the Watch.”

Angua carefully closed the remaining distance, sitting so their shoulders touched. Vimes seemed to slowly come back to himself, some of the strain leeching away as they sat in companionable silence.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, straightening but not moving away.

Angua read his expression. She recognised it from what she still occasionally saw in the mirror on bad days and suddenly she had to get some distance, give Vimes some time now she knew he was safe and in control.

“I’ll go find you something to eat; the first time is always draining. I might even take the time to find you some clothes sir.”

Vimes nodded with a barely-there smile.

“In the circumstances I think you can drop the sir.”

Angua kept her face dead-pan as she sat to attention with an ironically crisp salute.

“Yes sir!” she replied, a spot-on impression of Carrot at his most innocent before she bounded effortlessly between forms and loped away towards the city.

Vimes stood stiffly to watch her go, fighting with the blanket for a second before taming it to tuck around his waist like a domesticated bath towel. The next moment a familiar scent washed away his lightened mood, leaving behind the slow well of anger as Vetinari emerged into the dim light. He had the satisfaction of seeing Vetinari blanch as Vimes moved with preternatural swiftness, gripping the man by shoulder and out flung wrist.

“One bite,” he ground out around teeth that fought to lengthen. “One nick and you would understand what you did to me.”

He could feel the taught thrumming of Vetinari’s muscles as the man gathered himself instinctively to counter-attack. Then, unexpectedly, he stilled and turned his head away.

“What you must Vimes.”

Vimes didn’t know if it was true surrender or a carefully crafted appeal to his better nature, just that it was about as ‘Vetinari’ as anything could be and if the infuriating composure wasn’t shattered Vimes might truly do something unforgivable. He crowded in close, grip tightening, not even knowing what he intended until their lips met in something that was desperate and hungry. Vetinari moved with him, fingers of his free hand clutching at the nape of Vimes’ neck, any artifice collapsing with his control.

When his brain caught up again Vimes pulled back, the two men mirrored in their sudden stillness.

“You bastard”

"Vimes, I…"

"No!" Vimes snarled, stalking tightly out of reach. "You don’t get to try and justify this. You had no right to make this choice for me."

“I will never need to justify your life Vimes,” came the clipped reply.

The flash of anger, like finding a concealed blade, was unusual enough to bring Vimes up short. He turned in time to catch the waver of a look to the livid red scar between ribcage and hip.

“Even if you only live to hate me, you will continue to do so. I can be your villain for that.”

As Vetinari began to turn for the door Vimes stepped forward, halting him with a gesture.

“You don’t get to be a martyr just to ease your guilt.”

A faint flicker of surprise.

“Then what..?”

“Give me some time to get some proper sleep,” Vimes interrupted, feeling a prickle of mordant humour. “I can decide if I hate you in the morning.”

A more familiar expression of finite patience touched in Vetinari’s eyes, but Vimes caught the faint smell of relief that wasn’t otherwise revealed as he was left to wait for Angua.

As Vetinari walked away Vimes fancied he could see a faint silver eddy in the man’s wake, gone again when he blinked. He dropped wearily onto a mouldering bale of hay, trying to ignore the intermittent flashes of gold and dark blue in his peripheral vision, something too reminiscent of whole day’s hazy memories. Through the muddle he couldn’t forget the brief encounter with the silver taint in the air. He had lurched into the nearest alley on buckling limbs, dizzy with the stabbing pain in his head. When the barking thing had leapt for him something had twisted inside, the wolf clawing its way out of him by inches as his body broke and changed. Everything after was a merciful blank, but the thought of changing as casually as Angua did…

As his mind skittered away from that thought he reflected not everything was for the worse, for one thing his sense of smell had improved drastically. The fact that he could smell Ankh-Morpork from here was not astounding - on a clear day, with the wind in the right direction, you could smell Ankh-Morpork in Genua (something the residents complained bitterly about). What was amazing was that he could smell the cabbages in the field under the city's miasma. He was also remarkably free of pain, the wound on his side already closer to scar than scab.

Vimes checked the window again, but it was far too early for Angua to be on her way back. Having exhausted the possibilities of pacing and fretting he did the only thing that made sense, barred the door and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for some lovely reviews, I hope the pay-off is worth it. This is a chapter that had substantial rewrites from the original and I'm much happier with the results.


	6. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fears are faced and changes explored

Angua returned as dawn’s light was beginning the slow ooze around the city walls. As she reached the door she gave it a brisk rap, pausing diplomatically in case blanket readjustment was needed inside before pushing inside a bundle of clothes. A few minutes later Vimes opened the door to let her in; looking more like himself than since this whole thing started. She hefted a covered basket towards him, grinning at his surprise as he took it and felt the weight.

“Sybil was worried about you when I said you had to work through the day. I’m afraid she personally supervised these ‘light provisions’.”

“Ye Gods, they’ll be enough to feed an army in here.”

“I’d say that was a good thing - changing takes a lot of energy. You may be hungrier than you think.”

Angua watched him eat, relieved to see her commander back in control and the brittle edges of his psyche tucked away again. She thought of how to begin, how best to distil a life of hard-won experience into a coherent structure. In the end it was Vimes that spoke first, pausing between mouthfuls of something beyond any description further than ‘burnt’.

“Does the coloured smoke stuff get any less distracting? I remember you trying to explain to Carrot what smell ‘looked like’, but I didn’t expect it to be this intrusive.”

“It’s always strongest on either side of the change. The rest of the time it fades into the background, you’ll end up tuning it out most of the time. You’ll get plenty of practice in the city; Ankh-Morpork was not designed for those with heightened senses.”

“Ankh-Morpork wasn’t designed for anyone, but I’ll adjust. Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing you don’t already; I’m sure you remember what my family was like. Control your temper, watch your new strength and don’t spend too long in wolf form and forget how to think. Silver jewellery is probably out as well.”

Vimes suppressed a shudder.

“Yes, I’d worked that one out…I guess Vetinari owes me a new cigar case.”

“I’ll add it to the list I’m drawing up.”

She didn’t want to break the relaxed mood but knew she had delayed for long enough.

“You have to change again before we go back sir.”

Blunt formality made a good shield against the way Vimes’ eyes blanked as the walls came back up.

“Any particular reason or just for your amusement?”

Angua ignored the bite in his tone in favour of the defensive hunch of his shoulders.

“If you don’t learn to call the change it will always be able to take you by surprise. The first change is always painful, most of us experience it when we are too young to remember so I have no idea how it felt for you today. All I can do is promise it won’t be like that again.”

She met his eyes steadily, letting the silence draw out until Vimes was the one to look away as he climbed abruptly to his feet.

“Let’s get it over with then. Inside?”

Angua shook her head and moved to the door.

"Ah door handles, knew there had to be some drawbacks to becoming a werewolf." Vimes muttered sarcastically, following her out into the chill morning.

Angua turned and looked at him in the pallid morning light, looking as calm as Vimes wished he felt.

"What do I do?" Vimes said, placing himself in her hands.

“First you can try and relax,” she replied, looking him up and down with a grimace. “This will become as natural as breathing, you don’t have to force it.”

Vimes took a breath, willing his hands to unclench as he settled into parade rest. He could tell Angua wasn’t fooled but she continued regardless.

"Find the wolf in your mind; he’ll be waiting for you. He’ll be dormant for now and you’ll have to wake him, other times he’ll come looking for you."

Vimes turned his thoughts inwards, looking at what he regarded as himself; the part that made sarcastic remarks about the way the rest of him handled things. Lurking behind that was something different, something strange and feral yet oddly familiar. He was reminded of what had surfaced in the glacial river in Uberwald and the torture chamber, but that had been born of anger and this was the calm of a predator. As he considered it he felt something uncurl, aware of the scrutiny. Vimes steeled himself and pulled, feeling it surge up and into him in a shudder that started in his mind and finished in the tips of his fur. He shook his way out of the clothes that now hung around him, reveling in the new information presented by his nose and ears.

Angua watched him getting a proper feel for his new body, intrigued by the differences from her family. Vimes had none of her deceptive refinement, or the hulking ferocity of her brother, but all of the aura Gavin had worn like a cloak. She changed as well, a practiced wiggle taking care of her own clothes as she sat and waited for Vimes’ attention to come back to her. She was ready for the involuntary bristle of his fur as she came to stand by him, keeping her tail below the line of her back as she dipped to lick his muzzle from below. The expression of confusion that greeted this was still comical when translated through the medium of ears and angled head.

“Just letting you know you’re still my Commander, even if I’ll be doing the teaching at first.”

Vimes snorted softly, flicking an ear in the direction of the two piles of discarded clothing.

“I guess diplomacy can have its uses. I didn’t realise we would be able to talk to each other so easily.”

“We aren’t, not really, your brain is just translating into something you can understand. Quite useful when you don’t have the same vocal chords anymore and wolves aren’t equipped for sign language.”

“Is it the same with normal wolves then?”

“Yes, but don’t forget how we seem to them. If you can get close enough to hear what they’re saying, you’re probably too close.”

It was Angua’s turn then to let the conversation stall, shaking her head to disperse the memories trying to crowd her. She faced Vimes and crouched low, her tail sweeping lazily from side to side, feeling the emptiness of the fields calling to her.

“Feel like you know where your feet are sir?”

Without waiting for the answer she whirled and sprinted off among the cabbages, leaving behind furrows of churned earth and the echo of a teasing howl. Vimes took a breath, the flat and colourless world suddenly awash with colour again. Running out his tongue in a wolf laugh, Vimes temporarily turned his back on the hulking black mass of Ankh-Morpork to follow Angua’s curling golden trail.

*

Sybil Ramkin watched a close friend murder a woman in a fit of jealous passion and found she wasn't really concentrating. The music eddied around her as she sat in her booth at the opera house but her mind was far from the dying soprano who, despite frantic signals from the conductor, was still managing to punctuate every line with exclamation marks.

When Angua had come to see her yesterday evening it had been early enough that she wasn’t unduly concerned, apart from the normal 'he's out somewhere and people want him dead' that was background whenever Vimes was out of her sight. She had also not been initally concerned about the lack of detail, or that no word was sent during the following day, but the more she thought about it the more little details seemed to stand out as odd. Angua almost never came to the house, no matter what the emergency – she was usually in the thick of whatever the Watch was facing. No-one had come to complain in high-handed tones about whatever feathers Vimes had ruffled the previous night, nothing in the city was on fire… yes, Sybil was very worried.

Since she and Vimes had first begun their eccentric arrangement of companionship and support, she had never felt so cut off from his life.

_Lascia! Ch'io pianga! Mia cruda sorte!_

As the final tortured squeaks from the soprano ricocheted around the rafters she decided that, if Vimes wasn’t home that evening, she would check every watch-house in the city until she found him.

*

The man in question slunk through the streets of Ankh-Morpork as the pale light of evening dimmed to dusk. After some diplomatic 'close your eyes till I cough' changing and dressing, he and Angua had parted ways - she had gone back to the watch-house, ready to smooth over the unaccustomed nightly absence of their commander, while Vimes headed to his second home. As the day passed he had begun to feel slow and grudging acceptance of his new condition, something now being systematically shredded by the thought of how Sybil would react. On the one hand she had always seemed fine with the idea of werewolves, she and Angua taking to each other with the desperate air of women who spend most of their lives surrounded by men. She could even manage to be civil to those werewolves who kidnapped her with possible murderous intentions.

_‘But on the other hand,’_ began the more treacherous part of his mind, climbing onto its soapbox, _‘she's never exactly had to live with one, has she? Not in her own home. A dangerous beast that could threaten her dragons? You haven't got a hope.’_

*Bingley-Bingley-Beep!*

Vimes jerked reflexively before realising the sound couldn't be _his_ watch, seeing as that was currently still on the battlefield at Gebra. Sure enough, a few seconds later, there was a rattle as the watch landed on the cobbles after being thrown through a nearby window. Vimes wished he still had his watch…it was one of those times kicking something down the pavement would have been very satisfying. The unwary traveller might have tried kicking one of the various bits of debris that littered the Ankh-Morpork streets, but that was inadvisable. At best you would have a shoe that could never be worn again, at worst a very irate gnoll that was now attached to your foot.

Even being lost in thought didn’t prevent his feet inexorably closing in on Sybil’s estate. He slipped through the large iron gates and dawdled through the grounds, stealing around to the servant’s entrance in a habit that Sybil had broken except in times of utmost stress. Before Vimes could even rattle the doorknob Wilikins had it open.

"Good evening sir. Lady Sybil will be overjoyed to see you safe and sound when she returns from the opera. Until then, if you would be so kind as to follow me to the library where I have a fire laid?"

He mutely followed Wilikins into the house, attempting to decide whether all butlers gained seemingly precognitive skills as part of basic training, or whether Wilikins just knew him too well. When Vimes was safely ensconced the butler paused in the doorway before bowing out of the room.

“I’m afraid Her Ladyship has left instruction that, if you attempt to leave, I am to restrain you by any means I deem appropriate.”

Knowing what he did of Wilikins’ former activities, Vimes tried to ignore the luridly coloured images helpfully supplied by his imagination. After lighting a cigar from the flickering fire he sat back in a high-backed chair, wishing he had his helmet to tip down over his eyes as he settled in to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly earlier posting due to an insistent reader who draws lovely pictures ;)


	7. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sybil is irresistible, secrets are revealed and Drumknott thinks far too much.

“ _Samuel Thomas Vimes_ , you have forced me to give you a middle name just so I can tell you off properly!”

Vimes jerked guiltily awake in time to be pulled up into a strong-armed hug that would have done Detritus proud. He barely had time to register the eyeful of sequins and mouthful of feathers before he was released, trying manfully not to stagger as Sybil looked him up and down.

“You look less battered than usual Sam; I never thought that would worry me.”

Vimes fought the urge to curl away and hide from Sybil’s penetrating stare, for the first time fully aware of the roil of worry, fear and love that was bottled under a veneer of breeding and time.

“I’m sorry Sybil.”

He tried to continue but words deserted him. The realisation that less than two days separated his last talk with Sybil did nothing to help – there was no way to start, nothing to lead her into things gently or at all.

“I shouldn’t be staying here,” he muttered, half to himself as he turned towards the door. “I shouldn’t…”

Vimes was shocked out of himself by the iron grasp on his wrist.

“Don’t you dare Sam,” came the horrified whisper. “Whatever has happened I am neck-deep in it with you and I would never change that. I love you Sam; I may not want to jump you on that couch, but you are the only true family I have left and I will tear this city apart to find you if you make me."

“But what if I’m not myself anymore?”

“Then I would suggest very rapid explanations from whoever came to my house, otherwise I’m afraid Wilikins and I have no option but wreaking bloody vengeance with broadsword and kitchen cleaver.”

Vimes gaped, winced then surprised himself with a snort of laughter. Sybil took his other hand and squeezed them gently.

“I’m really not worried about that Sam, only you can come back without a scratch and make me feel as though I nearly lost you.”

Vimes gently disentangled a hand and pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing the twisted scar, still slightly pinker than the surrounding skin. Sybil raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“I don’t remember that one, when did you…”

“Last night.”

Sybil smiled tentatively, stroking a hesitant finger over the ridge.

“You’re teasing me, surely? Even Igor couldn’t heal a wound like that, not in a day.”

Vimes turned away from her concern, speaking to the far wall, words that felt like the knife all over again.

“They said I was dying. They said I’d lost too much blood before the wound was closed, that they needed one of Igor’s miracles. They gave me Angua’s blood to save my life.”

With the silence stretching out between them, he couldn’t help but flinch away from the soft touch on his arm. An exasperated breath was his only warning before a solid punch to the shoulder spun him round and he was captured in his second hug of the night.

“Intelligent men have the worst kind of stupid,” she muttered in his ear. “Another time I’d be offended that you think so little of me but under the circumstances…”

Bombarded with scents of ( _warm safe home_ ) Vimes finally relaxed, strength running out of his legs as he leant into Sybil, refusing to consider why he had allowed Vetinari anonymity.

“I really should stop being surprised by you,” he sighed, kissing her on the cheek as he straightened.

“Someone has to keep you sharp.” With a practiced motion she straightened her opera wig and swept Vimes out of the room with her.

“No point in you trying to sleep at night so kitchen it is, we’ll see how long it takes Wilikins to think I’ve set it on fire this time.”

*

The next night Vimes paused with his hand on the watch house door, not wanting to admit it but dreading going in. Whatever story Angua had concocted, his absence would still have been noted and remarked on; for that matter, he had no idea what story Angua had come up with, leaving him in an awkward situation if asked for specifics.

He had decided it would be a bad idea to tell the whole watch…in fact the fewer people that knew the better. If the change became common knowledge, Vimes knew his position would be compromised. The rich and powerful in Ankh-Morpork were happy (or at least not vocally unhappy) to have a werewolf represented in the Watch, it allowed them to hold up their head in society and explain how forward thinking the city was, yes indeed. Those same people would react very differently to a werewolf in their midst and Vimes couldn't afford to have his job made even more difficult than it already was, or put Vetinari in the position of supporting him or bowing to the majority - a choice where no one really won.

Carrot, Colon and Nobby were the best and only choice.

There was only one other person in the Watch house, Vimes having timed his arrival deliberately earlier than most of the Watch. Constable Ping looked up from the desk as Vimes approached and smiled in greeting. Vimes nodded in acknowledgement, trying to appear outwardly normal whilst at the same time furiously analysing an odd overtone to the bluish-white cloud that was Ping. Vimes was halfway up the stairs to his office when it hit him. Ping smelt…female? Shaking his head, Vimes put it down as simply being unused to the new senses at his disposal, but made a mental note to question Angua later.

He slipped into his office and sat behind his desk, groaning at the sight of the paper pile which seemed to have grown even larger in his absence. A moment later he heard the creak on the floor outside that signalled Carrot was about to knock.

"Come in" Vimes said, not bothering to wait.

"Good to see you back sir," Carrot enthused. "Was the Patrician's assignment successful?"

“Yes," Vimes said, trying to look as though he knew exactly what had happened on said mission and hoping Angua had been vague. "But I'll need to see you and Igor, as well as Angua, Colon and Nobby as soon as they arrive."

Thankfully, Carrot seemed to pick up on Vimes' silent plea that no further questions be asked, and smoothly carried on.

"Now you're back, I need you to sign the wages chitty sir. I put it on your desk."

At Vimes' despairing look Carrot added wearily, "Second pile from the left, by the half buried coffee mug."

After Vimes had found the chitty and signed it by resting on one of the more stable piles, Carrot continued.

"There's also a new recruit to be signed in today, he should be arriving soon. Shall I send him straight up?"

Vimes personally thought this was the last thing he wanted to deal with now, but then the job always did come before personal preferences. He nodded his assent and waited until Carrot’s tread receded, letting his head sink down to rest on the tallest stack of paperwork. At times like this his hand still twitched towards the desk drawer, even though he knew all it now contained was that damn inspirational paperweight Carrot had got him in the days the man…dwarf didn't know any better.

The next minute Vimes raised his head quickly, not just because the pile was showing suspicions of sliding. Something had entered his watch house, something that buzzed and throbbed on the edge of his senses yet still managed to dominate everything. The sickening locus, tinged red in his mind, moved up the stairs to his office and Vimes tightened his jaw against the snarl that wanted to bubble free, clinging to the semblance of humanity.

As Carrot ushered someone into the office Vimes finally recognised what he felt, identical to the fragmented recollections before his first change, the jarring taint of silver around the neck of his newest recruit. He steadied himself with the rote of giving the shilling and the oath, seething with rage for Angua rather than on his own behalf; a seasoned and loyal watchman would have suffered for the irrational prejudice of a frightened boy. The problem was how to reveal the truth, without explaining just how he could feel the taint of silver in the air.

Luckily, the problem was solved for him. As the recruit leant forward to sign his name a chain slipped from his shirt, leaving the silver coin to swing obscenely in the lamplight. Carrot sucked in a breath, his normal expression of open friendliness becoming ominously hard. Vimes reached out before he could change his mind, thinking of Rust, a lump of coal and a fire long burnt out. As his fingers closed round the coin the pain spiked up his arm, the reflexive jerk neatly snapping the chain from the boy’s neck.

"What is this?" Vimes said with exaggerated calm. "You would wear bloody silver in the watch."

"B-but sir," stammered the now terrified youth, "There's a _werewolf_ in the watch…"

"Who is now your superior officer," Vimes cut him off icily. "Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to re-educate yourself before I’ll even think of letting you out on patrol. Get out of my sight."

For a moment it looked as though the young man might try to further his case, before one look at Vimes' face persuaded him suicide was not a good way to further his career.

Carrot pressed the wages city into an unsteady hand and almost shoved the boy towards the door. He turned back just as Vimes opened his hand and let the coin fall back to the desk, the angry red burn clearly visible in the centre of his palm. Mercifully, as he met Carrot’s carefully blank expression, the creaking stairs heralded the arrival of the others he needed to tell.

*

Drumknott was worried. The Patrician was…well he was fine, but not the sort of fine where everything is ok. Outwardly there was no sign of anything wrong, but then mountains can look fine until half of them slips sideways to bury a small, picturesque village (complete with blonde, pigtailed goat-girls).

Vetinari was not the sort of man to be caught staring gloomily into space in an unguarded moment, an artistic tear gathering in the corner of one eye, but Drumknott was definitely worried. He wondered if Vetinari realised the importance of having one man he could completely trust; the difference between deducing someone wouldn’t be involved in a particular plot versus knowing, beyond all shadow of doubt, that whatever the situation said person was beyond reproach. He wondered if Vimes would ever recognise the dubious comfort of a leader who would betray you for a higher goal, rather than to line their own pocket. Working through another piece of paperwork, he sighed quietly. If he didn’t find a way to fix things then the city would be lucky if it only descended into chaos.

He looked up as someone entered the room, a nervous young man in a watch uniform with a crumpled wage chitty held in shaking hand. Waving him to take a seat Drumknott idly wondered what the boy had done to annoy Vimes, resulting in a trip to the Patrician on what was obviously his first day. Usually new recruits were fully prepared by senior officers before allowing them anywhere near Vetinari.

A few minutes later, when he was back from informing Vetinari of his visitor, he sneaked a quick look at the lad. The sound of the clock was obviously getting to him. He kept flinching whenever a tick was too early and you could visibly see him straining to hear a tock half moment too late. Drumknott almost pitied him.

*

Vimes sat back as the senior watchmen began to file out of his office. Their reactions had been all he hoped and expected from them - shock and anger at the situation and choices made, but no reservations about what he now was. Nodding at Angua to stay behind he stood before anyone was out of earshot.

"If anyone breaths a word of this to Reg…" Vimes paused and gave a predatory grin, "I will be very unhappy."

This got some answering grins from the squad as they left. Igor had hung back with Angua and now approached the desk, talking in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Ath you know thur, Igors have exthperience working for thuch kinds of mathter. If you ever have any little jobth for me, even the odd body to remove, I'm happy to thurve."

Vimes didn't dare look at Angua, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. Ye Gods, you could take the Igor out of Uberwald but you couldn't take the Uberwald out of Igor.

"That won't be necessary," Vimes managed.

Igor shrugged, an interesting manoeuvre for an Igor. As he left Angua closed the door after him, leaning back casually against it.

"I was wondering when he'd get round to making that offer."

"You knew?"

"Of course; he made me the same offer soon after he arrived."

Vimes shook his head wearily, gratefully changing the subject. "About Constable Ping…" he began, and then tailed off.

Angua grinned broadly. "Yes, _she_ is very happy in the watch. Guess the Borogravians aren't the only ones to try a bit of cross-dressing to get ahead."

The smile left her face as she moved to more serious matters.

"I heard what happened earlier, Carrot told me as the others left."

"I'm sorry I never noticed before."

"How could you have done," she replied wearily. "Besides, he isn't the only one, there are one or two spread round the different Watch-houses."

Vimes made to speak but Angua cut him off.

"It's fine. Once they get to know me most stop wearing whatever it was, those that don't usually go to another job as soon as one is offered. People will always have prejudices; however much well meaning Commanders try to intimidate it out of them."

She paused, crossing her arms in front of her in an almost vulnerable gesture.

“Thanks for trying though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little late, I know everyone says this but this chapter didn't want to get written. Finally managed to wrestle it into shape, not long to go now until the end...


	8. Time to Face Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vimes follows his feet, Lawn moves up in the world and Drumknott is no better than Sybil.

Vimes proceeded slowly through the Shades to his destination. For over a week he had tried ignoring it but, as ever, his copper's instinct refused to let him leave well alone. Vimes wished he could have continued hating Vetinari, as he had in the initial hours after the man had revealed what had been done. It was why he had avoided any contact since the meeting at the shack – such a easy concept as anger became curiously inadequate next to the complicated knot of emotion that defined ‘Vetinari’ in his thoughts, even before recent events, becoming a cheap shield Vimes didn’t want to hide behind.

With rational hindsight Vimes remembered the blood staining his clothes, an amount those in his profession quickly came to associate with potential murder investigations. His sense of self might scream betrayal but that couldn’t silence the quiet voice from deeper in, the one who showed him Vetinari bloody and still, asking what Vimes would have done in his place.

It was this that had drawn Vimes to where he was currently standing, under the creaking sign of the first person there that night, his missing piece of evidence. Reaching out a hesitant hand he knocked on Lawn's door. When the doctor opened the door, holding what Vimes fervently hoped was a cooking utensil, it almost felt strange not to have an eye patch obscuring his vision, so vivid were the memories of the time spent living as a man from his past. Lawn looked at him with no trace of surprise evident.

"I thought you would be back at some point," he said impassively. "I’m almost shocked you’re in one piece this time."

He turned and went back into the house, a silent invitation for Vimes to follow. As he slid out of sight into the next room, he called over his shoulder.

"If you want some lunch I'm just cooking liver…lamb."

Vimes followed him into the familiar kitchen, trying not to think of what else the knife-scarred table might have been used for.

"What have you been doing since…"

"Since we buried a body I thought was yours?" Lawn cut in. "Not much. The revolution spectacularly failed to change anything, but then you knew that anyway. Always work for a back-door doctor though…whoever's in charge."

Lawn fixed Vimes with a searching look.

"What are you here for? Your secret is safe if that’s what worries you; call it healthy self-interest if you like but I think my business may suffer if the Watch Commander has a grudge against me."

"I want…I need to know what else happened that night," Vimes said succinctly. "What sort of state I was in after I made it here."

Lawn smiled sardonically.

"Well, you had more clothes on than the first time you required my services. Even looked pretty good, but only considering you should have been long dead and in the ground. Funny how I’d seen you from a distance all these years but never recognised you, never close enough to see that scar.”

“No assistant to hold me down this time?”

“Didn’t need one with the state you were in. You didn’t even flinch when I cauterised the wound and who knows if the blade caused any internal damage, with the way you were bleeding I didn’t have time to check.”

Vimes thought he knew the answer but asked anyway.

"So what were my chances?"

"By the time Vetinari arrived? To be honest, all I could do was wait to see if you were going to die that night or the morning after," Lawn said bluntly. "What saved you was that strange man of yours. If the doctors around here got to hear of him, they would probably report him to the Priest's Guild for performing unauthorised miracles."

Lawn turned back to the stove, Vimes taking the opportunity to take in the sparse surroundings as an idea struck him.

"I may have a proposition for you. Igor may be a medical genius, but he hasn't yet mastered being in two places at once."

Vimes paused for a mental shudder as he thought how Igor might try to achieve this turn of phrase literally. 

"We need another doctor in the Watch, one whose idea of curing a patient isn't opening a hole in their skull to let the bad thoughts out. The money's regular, and Igor isn’t as protective of his secrets as some."

Lawn sat in silence for a moment.

"Well, as much as I love not knowing where the money for my next meal is coming, I think I'll have to take you up on that offer. Give me some time to pack and then I'll report to the main Watch House."

Vimes left Lawn to pack and headed back to his desk. He felt curiously unsatisfied, as if Lawn’s perspective wasn’t that important after all, nothing but proof for what instinct had already told him. There could be another reason though, a restless edge that had intensified as the moon slowly swelled towards full. With this tension sizzling in his nerves it only took an innocent question from Carrot to make up his mind.

"The wages chitty is here for you to sign sir. Shall I get Officer Privin to take it again?"

"No, I think he learnt his lesson from the last time. I'll take him out sometime soon to make sure, then he can go onto normal duty rotation."

"Who do you want me to send then?"

"I think I’ll go this time.”

*

Drumknott glanced again at Vetinari's closed office door. The atmosphere had grown worse during the passing days, the usual stream of aggrieved nobles drying to a mere trickle and the guild leaders suddenly willing to overlook perceived slights to their dignity. He did miss the sight of them sitting nervously in the waiting room beforehand, almost as much as watching smug expressions fading as they left, their brains finally translating what Vetinari had actually said, rather than what they first assumed he had meant.

What he missed more, however, was the sense that everything was as it should be. Vetinari was ostensibly running the city as he always had but Drumknott, who spent virtually every waking moment in the man's presence, knew something was subtly different. Vetinari was losing the amusement he had always taken in maintaining the city; balancing the myriad power struggles, trapping participants in a web of their own making until they were working for the city rather than against it. Without this single element said web was beginning to fray.

Drumknott was returned from dark thoughts by the sound of footsteps in the passage outside. Seeing who it was, he relaxed. It looked like Ankh-Morpork would be pulled from the brink of disaster yet again.

As Vimes entered the waiting room he was surprised to see a small smile flash across the normally inexpressive secretary's face. Even stranger, Drumknott immediately stood and knocked on the door leading to Vetinari's office.

"A Watchman is here with the chitty sir."

"Send him in then," came the terse reply.

As Vimes entered the office, wondering with a growing suspicion why Drumknott had not announced him by name, something caught his eye. As Drumknott returned to his desk, Vimes was almost sure he saw the other man wink.

He walked to the desk, watching Vetinari's bent form as the man read one of the myriad reports that crossed his desk every day. Vetinari did not look up, even when Vimes placed the small piece of paper on the desk in front of him. He simply reached out a hand to take the chitty, glancing down to affirm it had the requisite signature on it. He added his neat signature next to Vimes' scrawl then pushed the paper back.

"There, take that down to the treasury and they'll give out the week's wages."

"Thank you sir," Vimes replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Vetinari stiffened. As he slowly raised his head, Vimes was treated to a sight that he had never thought to see. Vetinari quickly returned his face to its usual expressionless state, but Vimes would never forget seeing a brief look of surprise.

“Vimes. I didn’t think to see you over a mere wage chit, surely the fate of the City must hang in the balance?”

“No more than usual.”

“Is there something keeping you from your duties Commander?”

Vetinari’s veneer of formality was so thick you could have used it to punt across the Ankh. Vimes chose to answer the question behind the question, coming around the desk to lean casually against it, facing Vetinari in his chair.

“Actually, no. I thought there might be something but several people, whose opinions I trust, have assured me it’s nothing I can’t manage.”

He put a hand on the back of the chair and leant over Vetinari, who continued his careful stillness.

“I was angry enough to try hating you for a while…but that’s never really worked between us, has it?”

Vetinari’s answer was an irresistible hand on the back of Vimes’ neck that drew him down until their lips met. After a merest brush he drew back, licking his lips like a satisfied cat, his cool smirk almost hiding the touch of relief in his eyes.

“As you say Commander, I think our continued teamwork is in the best interests of the City.”

“Damn the City,” Vimes growled, pulling Vetinari out of the chair and proceeding to thoroughly ruffle his composure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly finished now, just a short epilogue to go. Thank you all for stepping out with me this far, you are all appreciated.


	9. Curtain Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an epilogue

Vimes slipped silently out of bed, twitching back the drape to look at the city sprawling below as the sun dipped below the horizon. Behind him was the faint rustle of fabric as Vetinari turned his back to the window, even his sleep-clouded mumble carrying the unmistakable weight of command.

“Come back to bed when you’re done…”

The stars struggled to appear over the city’s lamplight haze, a corona that was effortlessly bleached by the emerging light of the full moon.

To Vimes it felt as though the light did not just shine on his skin but through it, reaching to the creature that slept behind his thoughts. It was a different feeling to his first cautious change, this time it was an irresistible force, as if the moon was a fire burning away his human form.

Shaking himself to settle his new skin Vimes tugged the curtain with his teeth, leaving the merest shimmer of silver to slant over the bed. With a quick step and an easy bound he reclaimed his side of the bed, resisting the urge to lick the single foot that stuck out from under the sheet. His reward was a soft sigh, another subtle shifting of sheet and a hand that tangled in the thick fur of his neck. Vimes yawned and rested his head on his paws. Letting go of a worry he hadn’t even realised was there he relaxed into sleep.

*

Far away from the city, on the heights of Dunmanifestin, a woman gazed at the pieces in her hand, green eyes shining as she smiled down on them. The Lady sighed as she replaced them in her box of pieces, ready for the coming game. She had done all in her power to prepare them for the moves of Fate, helped by the fact that neither man called on her. Now all that remained was to see how the dice would fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally everything is wrapped up. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone for the sequel, thanks for all the support along the way.


End file.
